


Scars: Part I

by shinlluminous



Series: Seventeen One-Shots Collection [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drugs, Gay, Gyuhao, M/M, Self-Harm, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:26:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6793657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinlluminous/pseuds/shinlluminous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minghao was a vessel of scars and Mingyu wanted to hold him tight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars: Part I

‘Why didn’t you call me?’ Mingyu shut the door, not exactly surprised Minghao didn’t answer his question. He exhaled the last wisps of smoke from the last cigarette he had on the rooftop of his meagre apartment. Mingyu ran a hand through his swept up silver hair, shaking once from the cold outside before he walked over to his boyfriend, who sat with his back facing him. It wasn’t uncommon of Minghao to show up at the most random of times in his apartment. He was sitting at the far side of the cramped room, close to the window whise vague light from the outside seeped within the space.

‘What are you doing thise?’ he noticed Minghao not loking at him at all. His face was grim and he seemed to be tracing something on his wrist, staring at his pale skin. Drawing on his own hand? ‘Minghao-ie?’ he lowered himself in front of his, gazing down at his hands for a good minute before he yanked his right hand away. ‘Hey!’  
He snatched the pocket knife from Minghao’s hand, and Minghao didn't put up any form of struggle when Mingyu strapped his arms around him and bound his hands. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ he couldn't constrain the concern and confusion in his voice. Minghao didn't say a word, his head was hung low and nothing seemed to bother him. ‘Minghao?’ Mingyu took a good look at him again.

His lips parted, and then slowly curved, baring a smirk, and he raised his head at him, tilting to one side, his eyes filled with gory amusement. He chuckled. ‘Gyu,’ he called cheerfully. ‘Hi,’ he kept his irritatingly unexplained hyper tone. ‘I like you,’ he broke into a song before laughing again, constantly bobbing his head unnaturally. Mingyu stared animatedly at him, startled by this new show. He looked sinister and sadistic, and he wasn't about to sto. ‘Wine tastes good,’ he said and Mingyu raised an eyebrow, his lisp even more so strong.

He stared at the bottle standing one of the shelves and stood up to check its content. ‘Fuck,’ Sure enough, half of it was gone. And not only that, Mingyu had put some powdered substance in it; he was sober at the time and he decided to get real wasted. He didn’t think Minghao would actually touch it. Heck, his boyfriend barely even drinks wine at home at all. He looked back down at him, who had reached out to his knife again and he yanked his again, a little too harshly that he landed on top of him. Their faces were merely inches apart and Minghao looked awfully helpless.

He was breathing heavily, silently and Mingyu grasped his arm baring the pale skin and examining it. He had drawn shapes and geometrical patterns, resemblances of floral matter and butterflies down his entire arm, parts of the lines forming disconnected thin bloody trails with shades of painful pink surrounding them. ‘Is it pretty?’ He asked in his small dry voice. Mingyu didn't respond. He took away the knife just so he wouldn't get a hold of it again and rushed to his bathroom to retrieve some antiseptic and cotton pads before he returned to Minghao, who sat statically and innocently.

‘This is gonna hurt a little,’ he said as he wet the pads with the liquid and gently as possibly as he could dapped the cuts bit by bit. He expected Minghao to hiss, or look away in pain, or to curl his fist helplessly but instead he stared at him, laughing in some sort of satisfaction. Mingyu almost flinched at his reaction, almost not noticing that Minghao had used his other hand to take the entire bottle of antispetic and tried to drip it directly onto the bleeding scars he deliberately made. He stopped his before he could, and he didn't argue at all. What is he? Just plain drunk? Craving pain? Numb? Psychotic? Sick?

He bandaged Minghao’s entire arm and then sat in silence in front of him. Everything seemed to have made Minghao lose all his senses. He couldn't feel a thing. Mingyu just stared at him, this different apparition with wavering eyes looking lost in his alcohol and drug-induced world, thinking how much he still loved his boyfriend. Was he really drunk though? He shifted closer towards Minghao, softly tilting his chin upwards to find a harsh red patch on his neck, right at his throat. ‘You need to sleep,’ Mingyu decided. His lips were losing colour and he seemed too tired to do anything else.

‘I don't want to go home,’ he said.

Of course he wasn’t going to take him home, that’d be madness. He doesn’t even know how to handle himself and Mingyu couldn’t risk getting Minghao out of his sight, not after seeing the ‘artwork’ he did on his arm. Mingyu was sympathetic, concerned, worried-

‘You don’t have to,’ he said quietly. He led him to his room, and Minghao consented, although he knew he wasn’t in the mood to sleep. He seemed pretty sober when he sat on his bed, looking out of his window as if there was anything interesting to see, as if there was anything beyond the set of flats that stood facing them, with the unlively roads below. Nothing was pretty there, nothing was pretty in Mingyu’s world for this precious Chinese boy to see. He sat there like a statue; Mingyu couldn’t lay a finger on what he was thinking, whether he was pondering about the darkness that stayed outside, the slight feel of danger that awaited.

As Mingyu lied down and looked at him, he saw no sadness. He stared up and studied his face, his jawline, his cheeks, the way his eyes were looking out with either some kind of emptiness or a thought. Mingyu couldn’t tell. Maybe Minghao just had an eye for everything unattractive, an eye for aesthetics. Maybe he did like this world, this space between four walls that seemed to offer nothing to him. Maybe he liked being in the shadows. Maybe he was tired of the world he grew up in, but he knew. He would never fit in. He could never pursue the life Mingyu was. He just couldn’t.

Soon enough when he was done staring, he looked at Mingyu and slid close by him, lying his head on his chest. He didn’t speak a word. Silence passed in this envelope of darkness filled with a faint scent of smoke and before he knew it he could feel Minghao’s soundless whimpering breaths. The way his eyes were fully closed seemed to be voicing out hurt and he wondered where he had touched his too harshly, looking at his arm resting on his waist.

When Mingyu raised it, the whimpering seemed to ease. Did he injure himself again? Why was he hurting himself in so many places? He raised the end of Minghao’s sweater, gently so that he wouldn’t wake up. The lightless state of the room made it hard for him to see so he grazed his hand over the warm skin of his boyfriend’s skinny waist. He could feel the unnatural lines of closing scars on them under his fingers. One, three, eight-

For a moment he could feel his breath tearing away from his chest.

How could he sleep like this?

He could feel the pain inside, trapped in his ribcage. Why? He pulled him closer to himself. Why does he have to go through this? If Mingyu could he didn’t want to let him out of his sight, or out of his hold. He pressed a pair of sore lips on his forehead, trying to let the almost inaudible steady sound of his breathing drift him off to sleep. Minghao shifted a little, a hand subconsciously raising up to Mingyu’s jaw. It’s not okay. He wanted to tell him.

But for now, Mingyu only whispered, ‘Sweet dreams.’ Before sliding into a state of darkness.


End file.
